Authors: Stephen Coonts
“Captain, would you go to the chairman’s office on the E-Ring. He is going over to the White House in a few minutes — and he wants the senior Chief of the Counter Narcotics section to accompany him.”
“Yes, sir,” Jake Grafton said, and made his exit. He didn’t ask General Franks what this was about because Franks probably didn’t know.
Leaving the Joint Staff spaces, Jake Grafton was hailed by the door attendant. Jake returned Mr. James’greeting with a preoccupied smile.
Hayden Land was brusque this morning. “They’re in a snit over at the White House. Dorfman ordered me to appear. Ordered me! That man has the personality of a cliff ape. The general’s aide accompanied Hayden Land and Jake to the White House. As they rode through the streets in the chairman’s limo, General Land briefed both the junior officers: “The President is going to announce new initiatives to combat the drug business. The White House staff have two proposals that affect the military. They want to increase the number of army teams patrolling the Mexican border, and they want a carrier battle group put into the eastern Caribbean or the Gulf of Mexico.”
“The Caribbean?” Jake Grafton echoed, his surprise evident. “The idea is that the carriees aircraft can help intercept and track suspicious air and surface traffic.”
“We do that now with air force AWACS planes, sir. Nothing moves over the gulf that we don’t know about. And to put a carrier in there will mean that it will have to be diverted from someplace else, probably the Med. We’ll only have one boat in the Med.”
“I talked to CNO about it this morning,” General Land
do. “Those were the points he made. All you have to do is listen. I just thought that seeing it and hearing it would help you do the staff work to make it happen if the President orders it, which he probably will. His staff believes that the incident last night with the busload of Japanese tourists requires an immediate response. Apparently they’ve sold that to the President.”
“Yessir,” Jake Grafton said and took off his white cover for a moment to run his fingers through his thinning hair. “I don’t think a carrier in the Gulf of Mexico is going to help them grab one more pound of cocaine than we are getting now. But putting a boat down there for any extended period of time will have a negative effect on our combat capability in the Med. It’ll cut it in half”
The aide spoke for the first time. “Sir, I understand there’s also a proposal to authorize the Air Force and Navy to shoot down planes that refuse to obey the instructions of intelwptors?”
General Land nodded.
“That’s been around a while,” Jake said. “The general aviation pilots” organizations have squealed loudly. God only knows what some doctor putting along in his Skybawk will do when he meets an F-1 6 up close and personal for the first time. Cessnas and Pipers going down in flames over the Florida beaches will make great television.”
“The doctors and dentists had better find someplace else to fly,” General Land said in a tone that ended the conversation. “This drug mess just went from boiling to superheated. The administration is going to whale away with everything they can lay their hands on. Anybody that doesn’t want to be hurt had better get the bell out of the way.”
That comment seemed to capture the essence of the atmosphere at the White House. Jake stood against the wall and obeyed General Land’s order he kept his mouth firmly shut. He listened to William C. Dorfman brief the senators and congressmen on the initiatives ordered by the President, and he watched the President explain his reasoning to the senior officials. “Gentlemen, the American people have had enough. I’ve had enough. We’re going to put a stop to this drug business. We can’t allow it to continue.”
Senator Hiram Duquesne spoke up: “Mr. President, everyone’s mad right now, but sooner or later they’re going to sober up. I’m not about to sit silently and watch the rights of American citizens trampled by cops and soldiers on a witch hunt.”
“We’re not hunting witches, Hiram,” the President said. “We’re hunting drug smugglers and drug dealers.”
A few smiles greeted this remark, but no chuckles.
“How long is this state of emergency going to last?” Duquesne pressed. Jake Grafton had met Senator Duquesne before, a year ago when he was working on the A-1 2 project. Apparently Duquesne hadn’t mellowed any these past twelve months. “I haven’t declared a state of emergency.”
“Call it what you like,” Hiram Duquesne shot back. “How long?”
“Until we get results.”
“It’s going to cost a lot of money to change the currency,” another senator pointed out. “You going to want to do it tomorrow, or again next
“don’t know.”
“This marriage of the FBI and DEA,” said Senator Bob Cherry. “I think that’ll go over like a lead brick with Congress. The last thing this country needs is a bigger, more werful police bureaucracy.”
“It’s efficiency I’m after.”
Bob Cherry raised his eyebrows. “You won’t get it with that move. More layers of paper pushers means less efficiency, not more. All you get when you add bureaucrats is more inertia. And a big police bureaucracy that can’t be stopped is the last thing this country needs or wants.”
“I want to try it ” was the President insisted. “Good luck,” Cherry said.
“I need you on this, Bob. I’m asking for bipartisan support. I’m asking for your help.”
“Mr. President, we in Congress are gettingjust as much, if not more, heat about that incident night than you am.
want to know why tourists should have to run the sk of being slaughtered in the streets just to visit the capital this country. My office this morning was a madhouse. We had to take the phones off the hooks. But Congress is not going to be stampeded. I can promise you this: we’ll immediately look at your proposals, and those that have a chance of working we’ll approve. Speedily. Those that don’t…” He shrugged.
That evening at dinner Jake Grafton told his wife about his day.
“On television one of the commentators said the President has panicked,” Callie told him. Jake snorted. “And last year they said he was timid. The poor devil gets it from every side.”
“Will these proposals work? Can the drug crisis be solved?”
The captain took his time answering. “There aren’t any easy solutions. There are a lot of little things that will each have some effect on the problem. But there are no easy, simple, grand solutions just lying around waiting to be discovered. None.”
“You’re saying drugs are here to stay.”
“At some level, yes. We humans have learned to live with alcohol and tobacco and prostitution-we’re going to have to learn to live with dope.”
“Even if it ruins people’s lives?” Amy asked. Jake Grafton chewed a bite of ham while he thought about that one. “A lot of things can ruin lives. People get so fat their hearts give out. They literally eat themselves to death. Should we have a law that regulates how much you can eat?”
“Drugs are different,” Amy said.
“Indeed they are,” Callie said, and gave her husband a sidelong glance with an eyebrow ominously arched. Jake Grafton wisely changed the subject.
Later she said, “Did you read that terrific article in today’s paper that Jack Yocke wrote about Cuba?” ‘allyeah.”
“I’m inviting him and his girlfriend over for dinner Saturday night, if he’s back from Cuba. I’ll call him tomorrow at the paper.”
“Oh.”
“Now, Jake, don’t start that. I had him in class all semester and he is a bright young man with a lot of talent. You should take the time to get to know him.”
“Doesn’t look like I’m getting an option.”
“Now-dear, you know better than that.”
dis.olmy, okay. Invite him over. If you think he’s a nice guy, I’m sure fie is. After all, look how right you were about me.”
“Maybe you should reevaluate, Callie,” Amy said tartly, and went off to her bedroom to do her homework.
The wind was out of the northwest at fifteen or twenty knots. Small flakes of snow were driven almost horizontally in against the sage and juniper that covered the sloping sides of the arroyo. Higher up on the hillsides the pines showed a tinge of white but the dirt road leading down the arroyo was still free iro-accumulation.
From a window in his living room, Henry Charon scanned the scene yet again.
The snow would accumulate as the day wore on and deepen significantly during the night. How much depended only on the amount of moisture left in the clouds coming down from the San Juans. The air was certainly cold enough. It leaked around the doorsill and the edges of the window and felt cold on his face.
Charon inserted another chunk of pifion in the wood stove. Then he went into the bedroom and got out the old .45 Colt automatic he kept in the drawer by the dresser and
to ensure it was loaded, with a cartridge in the It was. He shoved it between his belt and the of his back and pulled the bulky sweatshirt down so it couldn’t be seen. Then he went back into the living room.
He liked sitting in the old easy chair here by the stove, with the window on his right. From it he could see the barn and the road, and against the sky, several tall hills. The mountains that were normally visible were obscured by clouds this morning.
Really, when you thought about it, it was a shame that life doesn’t go on forever. To sit here and watch the winters, to spend the summer evenings on the porch listening to the meadowlarks and crickets, to step out in the morning with a rifle under your arm and walk off up the trail looking for deer and elk as the sky was shot with fire by the rising sun, he had done that all his life and it was very pleasant. Very pleasant.
But this other hunt would be a real challenge, in a way that hunting deer and elk and bear had long ceased to be. And he would have to pay his dues. He had learned that in life. This might well be the morning he was ever going to sit here feeding logs into the stove and watching the snow come down. So he let his eyes travel across the juniper and pines and took it all in, one more time.
About ten or so he saw the car coming up the road. The snow was beginning to stick. He pulled on his coat and went out onto the porch.
“Hey,” Tasson said as he climbed out from behind the wheel. “Come on in.”
“Got some stuff here in the trunk. Help me with it.” There was a suitcase and two army duffel bags. They left the suitcase and carried the duffel bags inside. The bags were green, with uudds. stenciled on them, and they sported padlocks.
Inside, with the door closed, Tasson shivered involuntarily. “Getting cold out there.”
“Winter’s here.”
Tasson tossed Charon a key ring and went to stand with his backside toward the stove.
Charon used the key on the padlocks of the duffel bags. Each was full of money, bundles of twenties and fifties.
“Five million in each bag,” Tasson said. “Count it if you
Henry Charon felt deep into each bag, ensuring it was full of money. “No need for that, I think.”
“It’s a lot of money.”
“You want the job?”
“No, thanks. I want to keep on living. My life’s worth more than that.”
“I hope to keep on living too.”
Tasson nodded and looked around the room, taking it all in. Charon replaced the padlocks and put the duffel bags in the bedroom. When he came back Tasson had his coat off and was in the easy chair. “I got coffee if you want it.”
“Yeah. I’ll take a cup. Black.”
They both got a cup of coffee and sat listening to the wind. The snow continued to fall. “What you gonna do? Afterward, I mean.”
Henry Charon thought a moment. “Live here, I hope. I like it here.” “Lonely, I bet.” Henry Charon shrugged. He had never thought so.
They drank their coffee in silence. After a bit Charon added a log to the stove.
“What do you think about the other names on the list?”
“I’ll do what I can. I told you that.”
“A million each. I’ll wait two or three months, then come up here with the money. If you aren’t here, you want me to leave it?”
“Yeah,” said Henry Charon, thinking about it. “Yeah. That would be good. I’ll get here sometime.” He hoped. “Leave the money under the porch. It’s dry there. It’ll be okay. *1
“There’s going to be a couple other hit teams in Washington while you’re there.”
“You never told me that before.”
“Didn’t know before. I’m telling you now. You can back if you want.”
“I don’t want out. But that does change things, of course.”
“I know.”
Change things! Henry Charon stared out the window at the snow. My God! They’ll be searching every nook and cranny. Still, if he could evade long enough, one of the teams might get caught. This might be the red herring he had been thinking about.
“Well,” Tasson said, draining his cup and setting it on the windowsill. “I don’t want to get snowed in here. Got a flight from Albuquerque this evening. I’d better get going.” He stood and put on his coat.
“Be careful going down. The road will be slick in places.
“Yeah. It was starting to get that way coming up.”
“Keep to the high side and take it easy.”
Charon followed Tasson out on the porch and stood watching him as he walked for the car. Then he put his right hand under his sweatshirt behind his back and drew the automatic from his belt. He leveled it, holding it with both hands.
As Tasson reached for the car door Charon shot him, once. The big slug sent Tasson sprawling in the mud.
With the pistol ready, Charon went down the three steps and walked over to the man on the ground.
Tasson was looking up at him, bewilderment on his face. “Why?” Then all his muscles relaxed and he stopped breathing.
Charon put the muzzle of the pistol against the man’s forehead and felt for a pulse in his neck. He felt a flutter, then it ceased. The bullet had hit him under the left shoulder blade and exited from the front of his chest.
The assassin carefully lowered the hammer of the weapon and replaced it between his belt and the small of his back. Then he went back inside to get his coat and that and gloves.
Why? Because Tasson was the only link between whoever was paying the freight and Henry Charon. With him gone,